


Eyes On Me, Please

by Mrs_ZombieOctopus



Series: Tumblr Request Snowbaz Fics [2]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Don't worry, Fluff, Gay, M/M, One (1) OC, Spooning, Tumblr request, Wow, and he's just mentioned so, guess not looolll, i am excite, i am impressed, i thought i was dead, i wrote this in a day, i've never posted a fic before 2 am, ignore my wips guys, k ima just go, oh shit im supposed to talk about the story here, uhhhhh gay shit, whaaaaaat do my eyes deceive me or is that a fanfiction from me, yus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 13:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14521770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_ZombieOctopus/pseuds/Mrs_ZombieOctopus
Summary: Baz needs some love from his boyfriend but he isn't getting any because Simon isn't paying attention. Baz makes a plan. Penny gets involved in the aftermath. *takes a moment of silence for Penny*





	Eyes On Me, Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChessPargeter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/gifts).



> Heyyyyyy babes so I am alive (that's actually news to me so ya know cool beans) and I hope you enjoy this fluff. I hope the anon who requested it also likes it because I wrote it for you lovely :D
> 
> Special thanks to my best friend Theo who inspires me to write and who literally is there for me when no one else is. I dedicate this fic and pretty much anything else I write in the future to you. I love you!! <3

**Baz**

It’s been a long day. Two of my uni professors were late, arriving in a tired mess of coffee, ungraded papers, and the general mood of not wanting to be there, and one of them just didn’t fucking show up. I had to write a five page essay twice (I don’t want to talk about it), the students in my mathematics class wouldn’t shut up about communism, and the cafeteria didn’t have my salt and vinegar crisps.

I am very much ready to be home, in the flat I share with my best friend and my lovely, crazy hot boyfriend, and in said hot boyfriend’s arms, furiously making out with him. (I swear to Merlin, I should not be allowed to be in a relationship. Thoughts of the next time I can get Simon under me and in between the sheets of the queen-sized bed we share threaten to overwhelm every bloody rational thought I have throughout my day. I’m not going to lie; it’s a bit hard to focus on my professor explaining William of Tyre and the diplomacy of the Byzantine empire when all I can hear is the exact sound Simon makes when I bite the inside of his upper thigh.)

I am too goddamn thirsty.

I finally arrive at my door, exhausted, hungry, and a little turned on, and I weakly hit my fist against the door. No answer. I knock again, more forceful this time, but I still don’t get a response.

“Fuckers!” I yell, digging for my keys in my bag and shifting my books to the other arm. I jam my key in the lock, wiggle it, and push the door open, letting it slam against the wall with a dull thud. That will totally leave a mark, but it feels good to do a little damage.

I kick off my shoes and leave my bag by the door, the flat sounding unnaturally quiet. I walk into our light, airy kitchen and notice that Bunce has buried herself in a book that’s larger than her head again, and it looks so old I think she has a bit of dust on her nose. I flick the side of her pastel-purple head as I walk by, and she doesn’t even look up as she flips me off. I smirk, and make my way to our living room, which is stuffed with chairs and pillows and a large couch, all surrounding the television.

I find my boyfriend lounging, one elbow propped up on the top of the couch, his long legs and tail dangling off of the end, and his wings falling lazily around his shoulders. His white earbuds peek out from behind his curls, and he’s looking at his phone like he’s about to throw it at the wall. His fingers furiously tap at the screen.

I stand in front of him and put my hands on my hips because this situation is very deserving of my signature hands-on-hips look.

He continues to play his game, and I can make out the sounds of violence and fighting spilling from his earbuds. How mature.

“Snow.”

He doesn’t hear me.

“Snow.”

Still nothing.

“Snow, I’m leaving you. I’m leaving you for that cute barista at Starbucks.”

He is so engrossed in his game he probably doesn’t know what day it is let alone who’s right bloody in front of him, trying to engage him in conversation.

“Snow, you hear that? I’m leaving you for a fucking barista. No one can make a pumpkin mocha breve like Dave from Starbucks can.”

“We’re gonna have six children and name them all after you.”

“I would bake him sour cherry scones every morning.”

“Snow, I’m going to go walk down to the Starbucks right now and have sex with Dave the barista all over our favorite table in the corner.”

Bunce yells at me from the kitchen, “Basil, as much as I want this one-sided conversation to continue because it is fucking hilarious to listen to, he cannot hear you, so you better think of something else.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” I respond, and she peeks around the corner and gives me a very reassuring thumbs up.

He has not acknowledged my existence in the 3 minutes that I have been home, and 2 of those minutes I spent physically speaking to him, so this calls for something a little bit stronger. I leave my stupidly attractive boyfriend (emphasis on the stupid) with his unruly curls and blue eyes glued to his phone, alone on the couch as I walk determinedly into our room.

I slip off my shirt and trousers and pull on the pair of jeans that I  _ know  _ are Simon’s favorite (plus they make my arse look  _ illegal _ ) and one of his worn jumpers. It’s a bit big for me; he has broader shoulders and more of a stomach, but the length of it is about the same. He knows that I know how much he loves it when I wear his clothes, so getting him to notice me should be easy now. And yes, I am going to all this trouble to get my very own boyfriend to notice me, and it’s because I am extremely petty and over-dramatic and because I really fucking love it when he looks at me like he’s starving and I’m the last sour cherry scone in the world. Sue me.

I saunter out, ready for the final part of my plan, and I suddenly can’t help but enjoy the sight for just a moment. The sun is slowly fading from the living room, but that doesn’t stop it from catching on the ends of Simon’s bronze curls, dousing them in a burnt orange, and the moles and freckles on his face and neck are just begging for lips to press against them. His blue eyes glow with the light from his phone and I just can’t take it anymore.

I cross the room in two strides and throw myself into his lap, promptly ending whatever game he was playing.

I expect Simon to be mad, or at least annoyed, but to my delight Simon just laughs, throwing his phone and earbuds onto the carpet and kissing my cheek. He slides back into the corner of the couch and takes me with him, pulling me to sit in between his legs. His arms snake around my waist, his fingers gripping my sides possessively and his chest is a solid warmth against my back. I sigh, and let my head fall onto his shoulder. He kisses the top of my nose.

“Hello,” he says, and I drown in his smile.

“Hi,” I say back, and then I pinch his arm. Hard.

“Owww! That hurt,” Simon whines, glaring at me.

I pout, “Well, you shouldn’t have ignored me when I got home! I’ve had a very long day.”

“I was busy,” he says sulkily, pushing his nose into my hair.

“Oh yes, you were very busy . . .  _ playing on your phone _ .”

“. . . I was about to reach my high score.”

“And I was tired and stressed from school! All I wanted was some bloody love and affection from my adoring boyfriend but I guess that’s too much to ask from a prat like you.”

He growls and tightens his hold on me. I inhale sharply at the sound, and shift in his lap, cursing Simon for having growls like  _ that. _

He pushes his face into my hair and his hot breath makes the back of my neck tingle. Then he raises his head sharply, and squeezes my waist.

“Hey, is this my shirt?”

“Yes.”

He groans and falls back into my hair, “I love it when you wear my stuff.”

“I know,” I say, smugly.

He bites my neck (who’s the real vampire in this relationship?) and then presses a kiss to the same spot.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to you when you got home. And I’m sorry you had a hard day,” he mumbles. “Wanna talk about it?”

I open my mouth to tell him about the stressors of my day but surprisingly I’m not really bothered by them anymore. Hatching a plan to get your boyfriend to notice you is a great way to de-stress, with the added bonus of your plan working and now you just get to relax while he spoons you.

His arms are tight and hot across my middle, and his chest is practically forcing heat into me. Everywhere he’s touching me I’m burning up. And I love it. He smells like scones and my expensive shampoo even though I tell him not to use it and to use his own fucking shampoo. His legs are flush against the outside of mine, and I unconsciously snuggle closer to him, turning my head so I can press my lips to one of the moles on his shoulder.

“No, I’m okay, now.”  

**Penny**

I watch them from the doorway of the kitchen, and I’m glad to see that they worked things out. They’re talking now, in low voices, sharing smiles and small laughs. Simon has draped himself all over Baz, and Baz looks like there is nowhere else in this world he would rather be. Although, they aren’t really in this world anymore; they’re both in a world all on their own.  

They make each other so happy. Anyone can see it. It's in the way Simon’s tail winds itself around Baz’s legs whenever he’s close by. It's in the way Baz’s eyes light up whenever Simon walks into a room. It's in the way they slowly built each other back up after the worst time of our lives, and it's in the way they continue to hold each other when one of them feels like falling and not getting back up. I truly, only wish the best for them.

With their soft voices floating in from the living room and the hum of the refrigerator in the back of my mind, it’s easy to slip back into my book.

The next time I look up I’m not sure how long I’ve been reading for, but I can tell that something is  . . . off. I set my book down on the counter and pop my head around the corner.

_ God dammit they’re at it again! _

I swear the number of times I have caught them on that fucking couch doing what they are now two seconds away from doing is a number higher than any of us want to admit.

I clap my hands a few times, disrupting the quiet, and they slowly break apart. Simon looks a little sheepish, but Basil looks like he has no regrets, whatsoever.

“Basilton Pitch! Simon Snow! Now, I know this may blow your small, idiotic minds, but I need you to stay with me through this okay?” I ask, cheerily, with a bright smile plastered across my face.   

They both stare at me.

“You two, have this thing, called a ‘bedroom’. Spell it with me, b-e-d-r-o-o-m. Do you know what bedrooms are for? They are for where all of THAT,” I gesture frantically at their tangled bodies, “belongs. Not. On. The. Fucking. Couch. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Penny,” Simon sulks, and he starts to get up but Baz yanks him back down.

“No,” Baz says, looking at me with a challenge in his eyes, “She’s not going to do anything.”

“Oh, shit. I wouldn’t test me if I were you, Basil. I really wouldn’t.”

Baz shoots me a long, cool look before grabbing Simon, pinning him to the couch, and kissing Simon like it’s the last fucking thing he’ll ever do.

I scream, and storm into the bathroom. I snatch up the squirt bottle I use for my hair in the mornings, and stomp back out to the eager 20-year-olds who are practically fornicating on. My. Couch. 

I walk right up to them and unleash hell. I squirt water on them furiously, screaming at them to use their own fucking bedroom. They both shriek and roar with laughter, so I spray them harder. They stumble/fall into their room, and I personally slam the door closed.

I yell at them, “Fuck you both!”

They don’t answer.


End file.
